Surrogate
by thefudge is grumpy
Summary: AU. Klaus needs her to carry his baby. He doesn't need her to be anything more than a surrogate. And yet. (three-parter)
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: ummmmmmm. is thefudge really writing babyfic? studies show that this is a highly unlikely event and yet! okay, so full disclosure: babies freak me out, motherhood scares the crap out of me, the whole concept is like the Thing from the movie The Thing. So writing this was an out-of-body experience. Why did I do it? Because I had this idea and it kept bugging me and it wouldn't leave me alone. And literature is all about pushing (personal) boundaries, amirite? That being said, I enjoyed writing this immensely so don't worry about me being too weirded out. I have to give some of the credit to **Anastasia-G** who is an absolute fiend and (gave me baby fever) inspired me to pen this schmoopy fest even though I was very unsure about it. Basically issue all your complaints to her, not me lol._

 _Yeah, idk if this is any good, but I'm taking the plunge and posting it because you guys are pretty cool and have been pretty cool in the past. You'll have to forgive me my poetic licenses here and there (including the whole pregnant!Aurora being a possibility). Also, I edited this chapter while packing for school so I may have slipped up here and there. I don't feel that confident about my prose and grasp of character either, but hey, what else is new. This will be a three-part series and I already have the plot roughly sketched out, so let's hope that I won't delay with updates (maybe the next two parts will be shorter? like please muse, please contain yourself). The first part, as you see, is titled "pain", the second will be "comfort" and the third will be "love", because I am a cheesy piece of fromage._

 _I hope you enjoy this, even though you didn't ask for it, but umm, yeah, let's do this!_

* * *

 _love's such a delicate thing that we do_

 _with nothing to prove_

* * *

 **i: pain**

At night, she dreams of a mother without a face, a woman who only carried her from the backyard into the house and then left her on the stairs.

She wakes up in a cold sweat and bites on her pillow to stifle a sob. She thinks, over and over, _I won't ever do that. I won't ever be a mother._

 _._

* * *

She's cramming for her finals with the textbooks on her knees when the shop door clinks open. A gust of fresh air storms the pages she has been trying in vain to memorize.

Bonnie looks up and her fists clench almost instinctively. In the seven years she's known him, Klaus Mikaelson has walked into her humble apothecary only twice. Generally, she keeps far away from him and he doesn't bother her. Though he is the de facto ruler of the French Quarter, he has agreed to give the Bennett witches wide berth. Probably because there's only her and her cousin, Lucy, left. Not exactly an armada.

The hybrid stares in contempt around him, not really paying attention to anything on display. He's not come here for incense and herbs, that's for sure.

"Klaus," she says evenly, rising from her chair. "This is…a surprise."

"Clearly," he mutters, drawing his finger across a dusty shelf.

The hybrid is well known for his unpredictable disposition, and right now he appears in the grip of _some_ foul mood. She can't think what she might've done to displease him enough to warrant a visit.

She bites her lip. "I've already paid the annual fee and Marcel has inspected my wares –"

"This isn't about that," he interrupts without patience, and his eyes finally meet hers. He scans her from head to toe with an intense, searing glare. It's the sort of thing that would have intimidated her three years ago, but she's grown thicker skin by now. Whatever he sees in her sparks his disapproval, but she holds his gaze for as long as she can.

"How can I help you then?"

Klaus grunts, turning his head to the side. "I suppose I could just as well coerce you, but it would be easier for all parties involved if we struck a bargain."

She can feel the pinpricks of fear on her skin. This does not bode well. He has been a man of his word so far and has left her alone. What could have broken their armistice?

"I will give you whatever you want. And you know it is in my power to fulfill it," he continues smoothly, placing his arms behind his back, almost as if restraining himself. "In exchange, you must carry something for me."

Bonnie sets down her textbooks carefully, because with Klaus any sudden movement might cause trouble. "Thank you, but I don't want anything from you."

For all their wolf fire, his eyes turn glacial. The muscle in his jaw visibly ticks. "Perhaps you misheard. I said it would be easier to do this _without_ coercion."

The magic swirls in her blood, preparing to withstand his attack. The day started so promisingly with her getting some actual studying done. How has it now turned into a confrontation with a dangerous monarch?

"A forced bargain is not much of a bargain," she says, as calmly as possible.

"I am willing to give you _anything_ , witch," he all but snarls. "Think on it. I could wipe your father's debts. Give him a clean slate."

Her lips part in shock. "What? How do you know about that?"

"Please. I make it my business to know."

Bonnie crosses her arms. "What else do you know?"

"I know I don't have time to mince words with you. Take my offer."

"Why should I?"

"Because I – your _King_ – require your cooperation with something delicate."

Bonnie frowns. That's one word she didn't think she'd hear. "My cooperation?"

* * *

The Gemini Coven has never inspired trust or confidence in Bonnie Bennett. Their methods have always struck her as opportunistic and bloodthirsty. The way they rear their young and inter-marry their old is enough to make her stomach roil. They are effective, however, when it comes to unsavory magic. They're the only ones who will touch special cases, because they're not averse to getting their hands dirty. Witches, as a rule, turn the profane into the sacred, but the Gemini Coven loves to profane the sacred, for the right price.

Their leader, Josette Parker, looks as innocent as a flower, but behind those gentle manners lies a shrewd vixen. She takes Bonnie's hand in hers and smiles a thin smile, as if etched on ice. "With the right mindset, you'd make a wonderful surrogate."

Bonnie yanks her hand away. "I haven't actually said yes."

"But you will, surely. I mean, it's the right choice for you and for your loved ones."

The young witch buries her face in her hands. She is sitting in a stuffy parlor with a lot of flower arrangements, oil paintings and enameled ewers. She's finding it harder and harder to breathe. No one ever feels too comfortable in the Mikaelson compound, and that's what the _royal_ family wants. If she throws up on their expensive carpets, will they have her head?

"Your father will be out of debt, and your cousin, Lucy, will have enough money to open her salon," Josette croons in delight, as if she's delivering wonderful news.

Bonnie shakes her head despondently. "Not everything is about money."

"She's right," a third voice says quietly as a beautiful woman dressed in tasteful black enters the parlor. Her red hair is the color of pomegranates and her delicate features remind Bonnie of a fairytale princess, kept under a glass casket. Aurora de Martel's reputation precedes her. She is gorgeous and lethal. She has to be, as Klaus Mikaelson's unofficial consort.

But right now, she looks meek and beseeching, and her usual swaggering confidence is missing. She stands in front of Bonnie like a pilgrim in front of the shrine. She takes the witch's hands in hers, squeezing them gently.

"I know _I_ don't deserve this great favor, but I'm not asking you for my sake. I'm asking for my child's."

And she slowly guides one of Bonnie's hands to her stomach. The bump is hardly a bump at all. Few humans could tell, just by looking, that she's pregnant. But the witch feels the life pulsing from within like a magnet. It courses through her, as strong and painful as electricity.

"My baby will not survive in my womb. It needs _you_. Please, Bonnie." Aurora's jade eyes, often cruel and unforgiving, are now wet with unshed tears. "It will die without you."

Bonnie made a promise to herself; that she would never conceive. But perhaps this is a compromise; she won't be a mother, after all. She will only save a child's life and in doing so, help her last remaining family.

Before she knows herself, she gives a faint nod.

Aurora pulls her in her arms and hugs her tight. It almost feels like a cage.

* * *

They call it "womb transference", though it's a cobbled name for a rather imprecise spell. Bonnie studied it a few years back and found it distasteful. She even refused to perform it for a couple once. But things change, don't they?

The Gemini Coven assures her the pain will be minimal. She herself has more stamina than a regular human girl, so she should be _fine_. What they don't say - what floats in the silence like a shameful word - is the assumption that Bonnie Bennett is inured to pain. That pain is an old friend.

Bonnie doesn't contradict them, because the last thing she wants to do is to show vulnerability in front of the Mikaelsons.

Klaus asks her into his study a day before the ritual is to take place. He seems none the friendlier, despite the pretty intimate thing she's about to do for him and his lover.

"I thought you might want proof that I am keeping my end of the deal," he drawls, pointing to a laptop screen on his desk.

Bonnie checks the figures without really seeing them. Ever since she woke up that morning she's been feeling queasy and nauseous, though the baby isn't even inside her yet. She wants to be brave, but the enormity of what she is embarking on keeps hitting her from all sides, not letting her catch her breath.

"Of course, I'll have someone fetch your clothes and possessions once the ritual is over," he adds, pouring himself a drink from the decanter.

"Wait, what?"

"Well…I suppose you could borrow Rebekah's garments, but I doubt they would suit you," he remarks with a cold smile.

"Klaus, I'm not moving in –"

"Oh, certainly you are. The next seven months of your life will be spent here, under my roof. You'll be carrying _my_ child, and my child won't be living in some seedy studio downtown. My child needs protection and surveillance."

"Do you think I can't take care of myself? I've been doing it since I was a kid –" she interjects.

"Yes, and frankly it leaves much to desired," he drawls, looking away.

Bonnie sits up. " _Excuse_ me? I have managed to survive in your city for the past seven years without so much as a scratch."

"Surviving is not living," he points out arrogantly.

"Isn't your family motto all about doing whatever's necessary to stick together?" she challenges hotly. "I've done what's necessary to keep myself in one piece and that should be _enough_."

Klaus is momentarily thrown off by the mention of the Mikaelsons' motto. It's been a long time since he's looked at it from that point of view. His subjects only hear continuity and prosperity when _Always and Forever_ is uttered. They don't hear the despair of the past. He himself has buried it deep.

He narrows his eyes at her. "It's hardly enough. While other witches grew in power and built a home for themselves, you dwindled and shrank. You eschewed danger, but you never took a risk. No doubt you think that's an _honorable_ way to live, but I happen to disagree."

Bonnie hates his trenchant assessment, all the more because a small part of it rings true. But he would never understand her feelings on the matter. "Just because I chose not to use my powers in the service of vampires and werewolves doesn't mean I'm some kind of failure."

"Failure?" he echoes loftily. "No one said that, little witch. Failure would imply that you're no good at magic, when we both know the truth."

"Oh, you think you know me?"

"You're not _that_ complicated," he drawls, staring into the amber liquid in his glass. "You're simply afraid of losing control of your powers, and so you avoid supernatural alliances. That's the gist of it."

Bonnie clenches her hands until her knuckles turn white. She wishes she could subject him to a good old fashioned aneurysm. But she won't, because Bonnie Bennet doesn't stoop to _their_ level.

She just wants to get out of his study. She wants him to stop looking at her with that knowing look.

Suddenly, a horrible sense of dread catches her by the throat.

Does he know – does he know what happened in Mystic Falls all those years ago? He knew about her father's debts…so he might have dug deeper into her past, but _how_ deep? Does he know about the boy she killed? Does he know his name was Jeremy?

Her eyes turn glassy for a moment as she tries to recall his face.

"In any case," Klaus shakes her from her memories, "your recluse existence won't do for my child."

Bonnie makes one last stand for independence. "I need my freedom. I can't just stay cooped up in here like some pet –"

"It's only seven months," he interrupts impatiently. "After that, you're free to sink back into anonymity. If you wish to travel during this time, you will do so in my company or the company of my people. And only as I see fit. This isn't a question, it's a directive."

Bonnie closes her eyes for a moment. Jeremy's face almost rises to the surface. She forces it back into the recesses.

"Oh, don't look so bloody glum. Others would kill to be in your position."

She glares at him. She wants to say, _you should just let the baby die. It's early enough. You don't deserve it. And frankly, he or she is going to be miserable, living here, being a Mikaelson._

But of course she doesn't. She settles for something benign. "I may have to put up with your overbearing nonsense, but I'm not going to smile while I'm at it."

Klaus clenches his jaw, but doesn't rise to the bait. Instead, he turns around and starts pouring himself another drink.

Bonnie is thinking about the next seven months and exactly how painful they're going to be. She doesn't sense his presence until he's looming over her with a glass of bourbon.

"Here," he hands her the tumbler.

Bonnie's eyes widen. "What's this?"

"Your last alcoholic drink for the year. Make sure to savor it," he replies curtly. But his eyes say something different. They say, _you look like you need it._

Bonnie takes the glass gingerly. It feels cool around her fingers - a small comfort. She takes a sip. It's spicy and sharp on her tongue. But all the same, she wants to tell him she doesn't need his pity, if that's what this is.

* * *

She loves the cold. She's always preferred winter to summer. Not many people know this about her, because she used to hide her secret affinity for snow. In hot July she'd walk around in a skirt and t-shirt, wishing she could don her thick boots and fluffy scarf. And in January, when everyone felt the post-holiday blues and wanted to stay in, she'd be the only one excited to go out into the freezing weather.

There's something immensely comforting about clean, untouched snow. People may turn it into slush under their shoes, but another snowfall comes and the draft is remade and it all looks pure and white once more. Nature is undefeated.

Down here, it never snows. There are storms and rains and even hail, occasionally. But the water doesn't freeze. Breath doesn't become steam. Condensation always turns liquid in the end.

So when her body starts sweating and the heat becomes unbearable, Bonnie prays for snow. Even though she's lying down on a slab of stone in the middle of the courtyard in the Mikaelson compound, she prays for snow.

Aurora is lying down on a parallel slab, a few feet away. Klaus is standing by his lover's side, caressing her temples and whispering to her…probably whispering encouragements. Bonnie cannot hear them. She watches them, though her vision is blurred by sweat. She has never seen him act this gentle, though there is still something reserved about his movements. He knows he is being watched.

No one is standing by her side to comfort her.

The Gemini Coven is spread out around the courtyard, each of them holding a small dove in their hands.

Bonnie knows what comes next and she'd rather not witness it. She closes her eyes.

They cut off the birds' heads and reach inside the frail bodies for the hearts. The pure dove hearts, pure as snow.

She hears the chanting growing louder as steps approach her slab. Warm and sticky hands map out her body. Josette smears the dove blood on her stomach and between her legs. Bonnie is naked from the waist down, but the discomfort of the spell turns her shame to nothing.

By now what was supposed to be a small pain has turned into a dull and constant ache. It has sunk its teeth into her flesh. There's a scratching in her womb, like an animal trying to burrow inside…which is _exactly_ what this is going to be. The rest of the body feels the aftershock of this violence and every single nerve ending screams at her to stand up and run away from this infernal torture… She clenches her teeth and sinks her nails into her palms. Her own magic would protect her and give her comfort, but she has to allow the spell to work, so she lets the pain in, she lets it ravish her.

Small tears hang like icicles from her eyelashes, and she prays for snow again.

The heat, the damn heat, that's what's slowly killing her. She might stand this onslaught if she could find a breeze, a gentle breeze to soothe her.

Soon, she is screaming. She is screaming so loud she can't even hear the chanting anymore. She clamps her mouth shut but the screams come anyway. She thrashes and convulses and knocks her head against stone and her fists open and close on air, seeking to hold onto something, anything –

A large hand covers her own. It is dry and cool and it's not sticky with blood. She latches onto it, squeezing the fingers hard. The hand squeezes back, giving her hope that this might be over soon.

A fresh wave of pain assaults her and she grips the hand tight and whispers desperately _snow, snow, snow…_

And suddenly, she feels it. Snow on her forehead. A crown of ice, slaking the fire in her head.

* * *

Her grip is surprisingly strong. She's almost crushing his hand. He knows it's not her magic, because she's inhibiting her own powers, so this is all Bonnie Bennett. Or rather, Bonnie Bennett in pain. He does not feel pity for her, but he respects her ability to endure. That is why he briefly abandoned Aurora and came to her side. Because he must allow the witch her dignity.

He hears her whimper about snow, which puzzles him.

He presses another hand to her burning forehead. He could enter her mind and make it cooler, but that would interfere with the spell, so he only stands guard against her thrashing and moaning. It is enough kindness from him.

Her eyes flutter open by degrees and she sees him standing above her, his image wavering but never leaving her.

.

* * *

They all call it a triumphant success, as if a military campaign has been won. Even Elijah, who was quite reluctant about the whole thing, commends Niklaus for ensuring "the family's future".

The hybrid nods and clinks a glass of champagne with his brother, but he can't quite bring himself to smile. He already celebrated the coming of a child when Aurora was first made aware of it, and replicating that joy would ring like a hollow performance now.

Josette Parker gloats as she tells him the spell worked _splendidly_. "Your child is completely safe with Bonnie Bennett. Her body won't fail."

 _Her body._ A vessel he never wanted or thought he needed for his progeny. Aurora was more than enough. When he first realized that his barren vampire was growing life inside of her, he felt so proud. But a heedless sense of vanity made him think it was all because it was _his_ child, a Mikaelson who could overcome any biological imperative.

How wrong he'd been. His child was just as weak as him, after all.

 _Her body._

Now that this "her" is another woman, he feels a terrible void in his gut. He holds Aurora in his arms as she cries tears of sorrow and relief.

"That's all that matters, Nik, that our baby is safe," she says into his shoulder. "It's still ours, no matter what."

He caresses her flaming hair. How he loves its violent color. But he only hears silence where there was once a pulse of life between them. She is empty, and so is he. How can it be theirs?

* * *

Bonnie has been staring at the bed canopy for hours, it seems. She is cloistered in this four-poster bed with at least a dozen pillows, three blankets and a silk coverlet for company. A cup of strengthening tea and a porridge bowl wait on the nightstand. She has no appetite for either, but she knows she has to try and eat. Otherwise, that woman will come into the room again and spoon feed her. Her name is Dora and she looks like a curmudgeonly army nurse. From the few words she managed to wrench from her, Bonnie found out she is in the service of the Mikaelsons and will be her personal attendant for the next months. There is also a chamber maid who made it her business to launder all her clothes and sort out the ones that simply "won't do" for her maternity wardrobe.

Bonnie has never been waited on hand and foot and she finds the entire experience highly disturbing. She wants to get out of this room and go for a walk, just to feel her body in motion, but she's still too weak to lift herself out of bed without Dora's help. Recovery takes time, as the nurse keeps reminding her. She can faintly feel…the thing growing inside her.

 _It's not a thing. It's a baby, and you saved it from death, remember?_

Her act of generosity is only tainted when she remembers the boy she killed. Jeremy was a child in his own way. Will this new life make up for the one she took?

Sometimes she wakes up in the middle of the night and feels a kind of vibration under the skin, a foreign resonance lighting up her magical radar. The magic is assessing the newcomer to determine whether it is a threat. _It might be, in the future._

She doesn't want to think that she's the host of a supernatural hybrid baby who will probably grow up to be as lethal as his or her parents. It's too early to treat the little misshapen bundle of cells as a potential killer. For now, she feels only a kind of camaraderie between them, because they both survived the ritual.

She even _talks_ to it when the boredom of being confined becomes too much.

"How are you finding your new apartments, your highness? Hmm, you probably don't care about interior design, do you?"

She calls it your highness because the child will likely be a little prince or princess. Their father is King. Their mother is Queen. And their carrier is a poor witch whose life is a perfect mess.

Aurora comes by occasionally to ask her how she is doing, but she never stays for too long because she becomes agitated and almost apprehensive. She tries to hide her discomfort behind an expansive personality, smiling and chatting with her as if they were the best of friends, but Bonnie can tell what is going on. Something that was once hers belongs to someone else, and the vampire cannot make peace with it entirely. She wants to tell her that it's all right to feel _weird_ about it. God knows _she_ does. But for all of Aurora's friendship, there is no true warmth between them.

Klaus doesn't come to see her, and Bonnie is thankful for it. He might have checked on her when she was bloody and unconscious, but now that the situation is under control, he doesn't need to be here. Her wakeful moments are free of him.

* * *

He comes to see her during the nights, when he is sure she is sound asleep.

The first few times, he stands in the doorway, not allowing himself to step in. He sees the outline of her body through the folds of the canopy. He listens to her quiet breathing. He is superstitious about witches and their rituals. He thinks _something could still go wrong._ He only trusts something to be done well when it's done by his hands.

But no, she's still alive and so is the baby. He won't have to crush the Gemini Coven into a fine powder, after all.

No one must know he is not sure of the outcome. They all think he is Prometheus Unbound, and can master fate with his will alone. It's true he's defied many odds in the past, but this isn't about him. Children have always represented a separate entity, a threshold he could never overcome, either by hurting or nurturing them. So he ignored them, put them out of his mind, until this.

On the fourth visit to her room, he parts the drapes an inch and looks through them. Bonnie is curled up on one side in a fetal position, with her nose buried in the pillow. He remembers the first time she showed up in New Orleans with a small battered suitcase and a pair of haunted eyes. She was a skinny teenager with half-bitten nails and four dowdy cardigans to her name. He didn't ask her any questions, because he knew that look too well. The first kill is always the hardest. He confirmed his suspicions soon enough. No formal connection was made between Jeremy Gilbert's demise and her disappearance from Mystic Falls, mainly because the young boy's death looked like an unfortunate heart attack. But she punished herself all the more in the absence of justice.

He let her stay in his city; they even brokered a sort of peace. He'd hoped that his leniency might benefit him in the future. He'd hoped she would grow into her powers and silence her pestering human conscience. He'd hoped to use her, eventually. She would be grateful to him for giving her free passage into his kingdom.

But she never showed that gratitude and her soft heart was no use to him, so he neglected her. Even came to despise her a little. Until his own witch, Gloria, told him one evening that his child would not survive the fortnight and that the Bennett witch was his solution.

Klaus stares at her sleeping form. She is, by all appearances, a woman now, yet still a girl where it matters most. Some would call it innocence, but in her case, it's guilt. Suppose she's not exactly mother material, is she? That's just as well, seeing as she's _not_ the mother of his child and he will never call her that. But her status has changed overnight, and he doesn't know how to classify her. Where does she belong?

Bonnie turns in her sleep. She lies on her back with her lips slightly parted and there's a funny crease between her eyebrows, as if she's giving someone a piece of her mind. He imagines he might make the list of possible candidates.

His eyes trail downwards. He could reach out and touch her belly. He could place his palm over the blanket and feel the warmth seeping through the cloth. But he doesn't, because that would be misguided and sentimental in the worst way possible.

He lets the drapes fall back.

"Thank you," he says quietly, knowing she can't hear.

* * *

Aurora runs her skilled fingers across his forehead, trying to smooth the wrinkles.

"She's all right, my love. You don't have to go see her at night. Let the poor girl sleep."

Klaus kisses her hand. "I'm sure you're right."

* * *

After two weeks, she's able to walk the length of her room, she's able to dress herself and take a bath on her own. She's even allowed her college textbooks, but only for a few hours a day because "the mind must be rested". Faithful Dora is always watching.

Bonnie has to consult with her if it's _wise_ to take a certain course of action. Even sitting by the window might prove a _risk_.

"Isn't this a bit ridiculous?" she complains. "I mean, we're not in the Dark Ages anymore. I promise I won't _die_ if I have a breath of fresh air."

Dora's mouth purses in disapproval. "What they did to you belongs in the Dark Ages, so we're going to treat it as such."

Bonnie can't exactly disagree there, the ritual would probably seem barbaric to onlookers. But she still finds this coddling highly exasperating. She has been allowed to walk about the compound in the presence of her maid or nurse, but complete solitude is prohibited. Even if she managed to give her servants the slip, there's always one brooding-looking werewolf or hybrid (she honestly can't always tell) following her from room to room at a decent but noticeable distance. She assumes Klaus has assigned his men to watch over her for her protection, but the whole thing is rather insulting. As if she's not able to be on her own.

She misses the intimacy of her studio terribly. This house is big and sumptuous and every room is furnished with effortless taste. But it is unlived, so it lacks personality. Klaus and Aurora come home late in the evening and Elijah will drop by during the odd afternoon, but Rebekah and Kol are cavorting somewhere in Europe and other family relatives or friends only visit during formal occasions. There are mornings where she has the place to herself. Well, herself and all her watch dogs.

It can be lonely.

She occupies her time with TV shows and books, but she misses the hustle and bustle of the French Quarter, the way the streets light up at night, the fragrances of the bakeries, the wisteria hanging from balconies, the cacophony of string quartets. She misses her little shop. She misses doing business with people who really _need_ her, who don't care about power and money, who just want their loved ones to be safe.

She touches her slowly swelling belly and tries to think of this baby as one of those people, as someone innocent. But it's Klaus' offspring, not hers. A part of him is _inside_ her and that screws with her head.

One afternoon she enters a room by mistake, a room she hasn't been to before. There's a portrait on the wall of Klaus and his sister, Rebekah, standing together in a baroque salon that is overstuffed with arabesques and gilt mirrors. There's an elaborate harpsichord in the corner. Rebekah has her dainty hands on the claps while Klaus sits in a wingback chair. Their expressions are almost stark, as if the painter couldn't capture a single emotion on their faces. The date in the corner spells 1727.

Bonnie feels faint. A part of _that_ is inside her. She goes to the nearest wastebasket and throws up.

* * *

The nausea spells come and go, but Dora tells her it hasn't gotten _really_ bad yet.

"Just you wait," she snickers nastily, as if she takes delight in the progression of Bonnie's physical misery.

There are now a dozen bottles of multivitamins and nutrients on her nightstand and she has to take them regularly or else get more stink eye from Dora and her cohort. Even the men following her will sometimes point to their wrist watches and go, "aren't you forgetting something?" She wants to hit them. Alternately, she tries to vomit on their shoes.

During one of her bouts of sickness she spills her guts into the kitchen sink just as Aurora comes in from the garden with fresh flowers. The vampire looks for a moment horrified at the frailty of the human body, and her eyes betray relief that she doesn't have to actually go through _that_. She gives Bonnie a sympathetic smile.

"Let's have someone clean that up, shall we?"

* * *

Aurora undresses him quickly. Klaus tries to slow her down, planting soft, teasing kisses to her jawline. She gives him a delicious purr and tilts her head back to give him more access, but her hands keep busy. She unzips his trousers and takes his length in hand possessively. She wants him inside her _now_ , she says. No delays. Klaus usually delights in her insatiable appetite, but tonight he is mildly irritated. It's not that he doesn't hunger for her. She has the ability to drive him crazy with just a whisper in his ear. But they haven't been truly intimate since the ritual, only catching a few trysts here and there. And so what he wants now is to slow down and reconnect with her body, as it is now. _Changed_. Barren once more.

Except…

Aurora kisses him hard, biting his lips until she draws blood. She feeds on him drunkenly, tearing his mouth in half. She pushes him against the side of the bed until they roll down together. Klaus tries to match her intensity, sinking his fangs in the arch of her throat. But the frenzy isn't there for him. He licks the blood from her skin and lowers his head, nipping at her collarbone, taking her nipples in his mouth, trying to savor her taste. Aurora tugs at his hair, telling him to stop toying with her and fuck her. Klaus groans against her breasts, arousal mixing with resentment. Why won't she _wait_? There's time to fuck. They have all the time in the bloody world. They could fuck on corpses if they wanted, and they have.

Why not let this moment last?

She is already rubbing the tip of his cock against her entrance. He knows he can't deny her.

Klaus lets her ride him with abandon, burying his face in her hair.

What truly bothers him deep down, though he won't acknowledge it, is that she's…well, happy.

Or rather, _happier_. Happier than she was when she was pregnant.

He still mourns the fact that she couldn't carry their child to term, but Aurora has recovered quite equitably. She's taken it all in stride and is seemingly content with the way things are. After all, they get to have their cake and eat it too. Whereas he wants to see her _grieve_. He wants to see the walls come down, he requires a visceral reaction. He knows Aurora is a frozen lake whose waters run deep and she will rarely disclose her true feelings, if she can help it. It's selfish and callous of him to want to probe those painful waters, yet he yearns to share this pain with her. And she won't have it. She wants to be happy.

"Take control, darling," she murmurs huskily in his ear.

Klaus obliges. He flips her over and starts thrusting in her quick and heedless and messy, the way she likes it. He raises her legs over his shoulders, driving into her again and again, trying to find that pitch they had in their early years when everything was madness and the world was theirs. The world is still theirs, but the madness has morphed into a kind of eccentric routine that he could do without. He likes their self-destructive impulses, but he also likes their bond, the bond of immortals who know things others could never even guess at. He thought being parents would somehow heighten this feeling.

How foolish of him.

Aurora rakes his back with her sharp nails and moans as loud as a banshee, telling him to go harder, _harder and faster and oh God please -_

Klaus freezes suddenly inside her. He is struck by a powerful sensation that makes him shiver, like cold water pouring down his back.

There's someone outside their door. He can hear their quick heartbeat. But more than that, he can sense – he can sense – his own blood.

His child. It's like a blow to the head.

Aurora caresses his face. "What's wrong, my love?"

He turns slightly towards the door. He can smell her now too, a mixture of wisteria and myrrh and baking soda, of all things. Bonnie Bennett is outside, listening.

"Nik?"

He blinks, remembering where he is, who he is with.

Klaus bends down and grips Aurora by the throat. He squeezes tight, almost to breaking point, as he thrusts into her in a blind rage. It's as if his body has awakened and the scales have fallen off. He doesn't know why he's so _angry_ , angrier than he's been in a long time, but it's invigorating. He wants to fuck her until it kills her. Aurora screams in delight and arches her body into his. He growls and his eyes turn amber as they both find their way to release.

* * *

She didn't _mean_ to eavesdrop. She had no intention of stopping by their door. She was only thirsty and restless and it was too _hot_ to sleep. No one ever told her that pregnancy means constant exhaustion, but inability to properly rest. You want to clock out, and your body simply won't let you. At length, she couldn't take it anymore. She slipped out of her room in nothing but her nightgown, hoping that no busybodies would trail after her.

In truth, she just wanted to get a glass of water. Somehow she ended up here, drawn by sounds that, at first, she didn't recognize. When she realized they were the cries of feral lovemaking, it was too late to leave. She _couldn't_. She was frozen to the spot.

She stands now with her ear to the door, ashamed of herself, shivering slightly in her thin nightgown, but unable to move away. His growls fascinate her. They almost echo in her body, leaving behind a strange tingling. She squeezes her thighs together, thinking that her grandmother is probably watching her from the beyond and shaking her head in disapproval.

"I'm sorry, Grams," she whispers, but keeps listening.

* * *

In the morning, she eats French toast and strawberries with cream (because if she is going to live in luxury, she might as well take advantage) and makes more headway on her assignment, typing up her notes on her laptop. She's managed to enroll in a few online classes and she's enjoying the distraction they provide from her gilded cage. Especially after last night. She's promised herself she will never eavesdrop again, but she's not sure if she'll keep her word. She's noticed that pregnancy has heightened her senses to an almost painful degree. Everything is a temptation, from food to...other things. She's read up online about hormones and cravings and libido, but they don't talk about how a _witch_ will react to it all. She never bothered to ever get this information from other witches because she never planned on being a mother, but now she wishes she had a confidante. She could _ask_ for her cousin to visit, although she has a feeling Klaus won't allow it.

Speak of the Devil.

The hybrid strolls into the kitchen, casually grabbing an apple from the counter and biting into it.

Bonnie tries to hide her surprise. She stares fixedly at the screen, heart thumping in her chest. This is a rarity, as he hardly ever visits, and he knows she likes to spend time here in the morning.

 _It's about last night. He knows_ , she thinks in a fit of panic. But maybe she's only being paranoid. This is his house, after all.

"Sleep well?" he inquires in a tone she would qualify as neutral, but she can't be sure.

She hopes she's not blushing as she says, quite sternly, "Yes, thank you."

"Good. Rise for me, please."

 _What?_

She swivels around to look at him. He's nothing short of serious, from his grave demeanor right down to his folded arms.

"Is there a problem?" she asks, narrowing her eyes.

"No problem, little witch. I'd just like you to stand." And he takes a step forward, offering his hand.

She stares at it for a moment before she takes it. She has a sudden memory of his hand on her forehead, but she pushes it to the back of her mind.

He pulls her gently from the chair. They stand in front of each other in silence. Bonnie stares up at him, noticing his lips are bruised.

There's a small bump between them. Her stomach has swollen to the size of a quince.

"I thought it's time we got properly introduced," he says quietly, almost contrite. He raises a hand to her stomach, but he doesn't touch her – his fingers hover above her oversize T-shirt. She's possibly spilled cream on it, but he doesn't notice. His eyes have a strange luminous quality. She doesn't know how to react to this sudden closeness. She almost wants to leave her body behind and watch him from afar, but she also knows she can't go anywhere, because she's too involved. She wants him to touch the swelling because it would somehow make it more _real_. God knows, she's been trying to make sense of it for the past month and a half. She's pregnant with _his_ child.

 _A part of him is inside you._

His hand descends on her womb.

She doesn't know how it works for witches and hybrids but there is a strange, almost instant feeling of recognition, creature acknowledging creature, blood calling to blood. The baby responds to his father. It's not kicking yet, it's too early for that, but it seems to acquire a kind of sentience and she is filled with a strange ebullience, like the sun setting on her skin. Snowflakes on her tongue. A time before everything went to hell. It only lasts a moment and then, it only feels like his hand on her stomach.

But that is not a bad feeling, either, she finds.

The connection has stolen a small, candid smile from him. It is devoid of his usual brand of cruelty. It's vulnerable and unsure… and it's gone in the next minute as he removes his hand.

"Very well, I'm satisfied," he mutters and turns away from her. "You may resume your morning routine. I won't bother you."

Bonnie is left standing there, feeling a bit foolish. She watches his figure recede in the hallway, like he was never there. She wonders if this is a side of him that he keeps under lock and key.

* * *

"When can I see our little surrogate?" Gloria asks expectantly, passing him a salt-rimmed tequila. She has a special recipe. If you're a human and you happen to drink this, you fall into an instant alcoholic coma. For Klaus, it's simply an amusing way to pass the time.

"I'm thinking next week," he says slowly, almost reluctantly. She notices he doesn't look particularly comfortable whenever she brings up Bonnie Bennett. It's to be expected.

"She's got an ultrasound appointment soon," Gloria reminds him and quickly adds, "but don't worry, I'm going to handle all the red tape. It will feel like she never left the compound."

Klaus pinches the bridge of his nose. "But she will."

"Well…I mean, she'll be more guarded than the Vatican. You know that."

Klaus downs the tequila in one gulp. The warmth spreads through his body, but it does nothing to soothe him. He's too worried. He's _always_ worried these days. Ever since he felt his child call out to him in that kitchen, he can't stop thinking about the possible disasters that might befall Bonnie. The cruel ways in which he might be parted from his heir. Every small happiness has a price.

Gloria chortles all of a sudden, stirring him from his brooding.

"What's so funny, sweetheart?" he drawls impatiently.

"The Vatican. It reminds me…we have a Virgin Mary on our hands."

"What?" he asks confused.

"Well, you know…immaculate conception and all that. If the French Quarter ever finds out, she'll become a saint to them."

Klaus is on the cusp of understanding, but he can't quite make it out yet.

"She's pregnant and a virgin," Gloria elaborates with a smile. "It's kind of fitting, don't you think? Your child is going to be the next Messiah."

"How do you know…?"

"Please, give me _some_ credit. I watched over her when she still had dove blood between her legs. That girl hasn't done anything with a man, and why would she? They're all pigs." Gloria continues her tirade on the male gender, but Klaus can't really hear her.

He feels a thickening in his throat. _She's pregnant and a virgin._ It shouldn't make his hand clench around the glass. But it does. He thinks of her standing outside his chamber, listening to him fucking Aurora. It fogs his mind until he feels the effect of the tequila kicking in.

"Huh, never pegged you for a lightweight," Gloria mocks, patting his shoulder.

"I'll need five more of those and quick," he rasps, picturing the Virgin kneeling before him, presenting him with a child. He's never felt closer to godliness and sin. But it shouldn't matter. It shouldn't matter what she's like, what she's done, who she is. She is only a surrogate, he tries to tell himself.

* * *

 _A/N: just wanna add that the Gemini Coven, Bonnie's love of winter and other small tidbits will resurface and have a point in the future parts. and maybe we'll get to see more haughty Originals? anyway, tune in for the next round of a genre i like to call "filthy fluff", bonus points for alliterations._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: okay, don't kill me if I've got some of the baby details wrong, okay? Suspension of disbelief is necessary, lol. That being said, welcome to the second part of this schmoopy mess. I've got so many tropes for you, hoo boy. And family drama, lathered on thick. Apologies for any typos, I'm updating this at an ungodly hour again because I have a class to teach tomorrow and idk man, that just fuels my juices. Don't do what I do, though. Make good life choices. I'm still super unsure about this story, I feel like my prose is wonky at times, and that the characters are off, but your reviews and support really, really help. Thank you for giving me the confidence to continue. Yall are the best. (Gotta briefly give a shout-out to **Blessing 1.0** whose review legit made me cackle on the street) I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

 **ii: comfort**

"Can this car _go_ any slower?"

Klaus turns around in his seat and favors her with a scornful glare. She returns his contempt twice-fold. She has been sitting very nice and quiet for the past 45 minutes, but enough is _enough_. The snail-pace is driving her mad. She's ready to get out of the car and _walk_ to the clinic. It would definitely be faster.

"A hearse just drove by and overtook us," Bonnie points out when the silence stretches on uncomfortably.

The hybrid nods. "Good. Then we are on schedule."

"Everyone is honking at us," she insists.

"I will have their throats ripped out later. Charles here has already got their plate numbers."

"But – we are causing a traffic jam!"

"This city belongs to me. I may cause it whatever I desire," he replies coolly.

Bonnie is about ready to give up. She falls back in her seat with a deep sigh. "At this rate, I will probably give birth in this SUV."

She catches the driver (Charles) smirking in the mirror. Even _he_ knows this is plain ridiculous.

He sobers up quickly when Klaus gives him a pointed look. The Original speaks each word slowly, as if he wants her to memorize them. "You are carrying _my_ child. We will get there when we get there."

Under vastly different circumstances, this whole thing would be sweet. A future father getting overly protective of his pregnant – _surrogate_. The touching family moment practically writes itself. But they're _not_ a family and even if this is his child, theoretically, _she_ is not his. And she's certainly not his to drive around under 10 m/h.

At least she gets to see the city again, even if they have been on the same street for the past ten minutes.

She inspects every shop window and stares after each passer-by, trying to guess who they are, wondering if any of them have been her customers. She's good with names, not so much with faces. Isn't that odd? To remember the sound of someone, but not their image? For instance, she remembers the way her mother used to laugh. She doesn't recall her face very well – in fact, not at _all_. But that smoker's laugh with the high tilt, as if she were making fun of _you_ , that's hard to forget.

Bonnie drums her fingers against the arm rest. Standing in one place for big stretches of time makes you think about things you'd rather not. So in an act of petty vengeance she kicks her feet against Klaus' chair, making it rattle. At first he doesn't react, but after the _fourth_ occurrence, he turns around with stormy eyes and flaring nostrils.

"Sorry. Pregnant woman's restless foot syndrome," she excuses herself with a smile.

He doesn't buy it. "If you don't behave…"

"You'll do what? I'm with child over here, you can't hurt me," she replies triumphantly.

"No, but I can make you sit on my lap for the rest of the drive."

Bonnie opens her mouth to say something scathing in return and –wait.

" _What_?"

An angry honk blares behind them. Charles clears his throat.

Klaus realizes, _belatedly_ , that it might have been a strange thing to say, but it's too late to take it back now, so even though his complexion is wilting, he soldiers on. "You heard me."

Back in _his_ day, taking a child on one's lap and giving them a taste of their own medicine was nothing to sneer at, but…Bonnie Bennett is not a child, she's merely carrying one.

Well, it's her fault for being a brat.

They spend the rest of the (long) drive in silence.

* * *

One aspect she notes is that the clinic is very quiet. She's been to various hospitals along the years – always due to some family loss or another – and they all seemed to _shriek_ at her. They were places of pain and physical toll that wanted you to know how much it hurt. This hallway, however, is hushed and elegant. It doesn't stink of urine or chlorine but rather of air-freshener and mint candies. Every door is stainless white and sealed shut. She is in a place with money. She will be well taken care of.

This should make her feel more at ease, but it actually turns her stomach to knots and makes her palms sweat. Nothing could go wrong here, she knows that, so that means _she_ is the wrong thing here.

His hybrids spread out surreptitiously down each corridor to ensure the parameter. Klaus leads her gently by the elbow, only two fingers touching her shirt, the way you carry an unruly kid to the principal's office. His face is stony, his expression somewhere else. He keeps checking his phone and his watch, as if the two things are in disagreement.

Their doctor – Leila Sankar – pops up from one of the white rooms with a large and somewhat intimidating grin on her face. She is plump and short and wears her hair in outlandish hair buns that remind her of Princess Leia.

"You must be the surrogate. I'm so happy to meet you. Right this way!"

 _The Surrogate_. Is this going to be her identity from now on? Bonnie Bennett, professional surrogate, professional container, professional vessel and storage room.

Bonnie surveys Dr. Sankar intently. The woman is overflowing with energy and good cheer, but there's no filmy gauze over her eyes. Normally, humans tend to mellow down when they are being controlled. They don't act excited, unless the vampire demands it.

She's about to ask Klaus about it, but he seems to have read her mind. He whispers close to her ear. "Compelling her would have skewered her medical expertise. It would be dangerous for the baby."

Bonnie blinks. She must look totally _shocked_ , because Klaus squeezes her arm and shakes his head in a silent warning.

But she can't help it. She's baffled that he would take this risk, calculated though it may be.

She's ushered into an examination room where a young nurse is prepping the ultrasound machine. A woman twice her age is standing behind her, pulling out tubes of gel and inspecting them critically. She looks like she belongs there although she's not wearing a hospital gown or a doctor's robe. Her stylish pixie cut and shrewd smile say nothing to her, and yet Bonnie has the feeling that she knows her.

"Oh, I'd like you to meet our in-house midwife, Gloria." Dr. Sankar makes the formal introduction, but the older woman steps forward boldly and takes Bonnie by the hand, squeezing it tight.

Instantly, she feels the shock of magic between two servants of nature. Her eyes widen. She's looking at a Quarter witch. Bonnie thought she was familiar with all of them and yet here is one she's never met.

"It's a pleasure, my dear," Gloria drawls with an easy smile, although her magic is thumbing through Bonnie's wards as if she were leafing through an open book. _Okay_ , so she's a powerful witch. She'll have to remember that.

"I know that you requested the services of a midwife and we could think of no one better," Dr. Sankar supplies with a reassuring grin. Bonnie looks to Klaus for answers. _She_ certainly never expressed the desire for a midwife. And yet, the hybrid appears completely unruffled about Gloria's presence. What is more, he seems to know her. That doesn't bode well.

Bonnie would like to take him to task for failing to disclose this information to her. Calling in a witch for her medical appointment wouldn't bother her if she was _told_ beforehand.

She decides she's going to give him the cold shoulder _and_ kick his seat in the car on the way back.

"Well, I think we can get started if that's all right with you," Dr. Sankar motions her towards the bed.

Klaus checks his phone again with a disgruntled sigh. Bonnie wonders what could possibly be upsetting him right now. Is he bored or simply impatient? He's the one who made such a big deal about this whole thing.

But she soon forgets about him. She forgets about everything when the ultrasound screen lights up.

.

* * *

"Okay, do you feel that? We're getting a steady heartbeat," Dr. Sankar says as she moves the transducer gently over the exposed skin.

Klaus doesn't want to touch the witch more than he needs to, but his hand unconsciously grips her shoulder and doesn't let go.

Bonnie doesn't seem to mind. She stares, transfixed, at the little tadpole on the monitor. She's grown used to its presence inside her, but to see it in reality…to have proof of it…it makes her lightheaded.

Klaus is crushing her shoulder but she's thankful for the support, otherwise she might keel over.

"The organs are developing well. The head has grown in size – see, you can tell it apart from the rest of the body. A few more weeks and we'll be able to tell the sex," Dr. Sankar continues calmly.

Bonnie nods, but her throat is clogged with liquid thick like syrup, and she's unable to speak. Her heart is beating too fast, it almost burns. The machine registers her elevated pulse.

"It's all right, you're doing very well," Dr. Sankar assures her.

Klaus leans over, his hand still squeezing her shoulder.

"Breathe," he urges.

But he could use that advice as well. When Bonnie looks up at him, she sees panic and bewilderment in his eyes. He is flooded with the same disquiet as her. He's not really good at this.

Gloria is watching them from across the room. _They're just two kids_ , she thinks with a sad laugh. Klaus may be older than this baptized land, but he is a boy at heart. And he's wanted this for longer than he can remember.

They are both uncertain and scared, standing there, staring at the monitor. But his hand hasn't left her shoulder.

Gloria bites down a smile. _Uh-oh_. This is going to get complicated.

* * *

His mood is deplorable when they return to the car. He slams the door shut and barks quick orders at Charles.

Bonnie is at first surprised and hurt. She is still somewhere in that examination room, wholly absorbed by the image on the monitor, but he has _clearly_ moved on. She quells the feeling of disappointment in her chest. Why did she expect things to be different?

The drive back to the compound is spent in angry silence on his side and confusion on hers. Did she do something wrong? _No, you didn't. He's just an asshole._

It's only when they walk through the archway together into the inner courtyard that her patience finally snaps.

"What is _wrong_ with you? I thought it went well."

The hybrid pivots on her and his expression is filled with bitterness. He is _bewildered_ that she hasn't understood.

"Yes, it went marvelous. A pity the mother wasn't there."

It only hits her a few moments later what he means.

"Oh."

 _Mother._ She had completely forgotten about Aurora. Her absence hadn't weighed on her mind at all. Suddenly, she is overcome with shame. How could she have been so insensitive?

" _Oh_ indeed," Klaus mutters, storming past her through a French window and into the parlor.

Bonnie tenses up, feeling a painful knot in her stomach. This shouldn't be her problem. It's between him and Aurora. She _does_ want this baby to grow up in a happy home, but she knows how fragile every family is, whether supernatural or not. The Mikaelsons are famously dysfunctional. The city knows all about their "civil wars" – the petty squabbles between siblings, the bloody strife between mother and children. Not many families can say they have quite literally vanquished each other.

But she doesn't want to dwell on a terrible possibility. She has to believe that once this child is born, Aurora will be there for it.

Bonnie watches as Klaus pours himself copious amounts of alcohol.

She clears her throat. "You shouldn't jump to conclusions. Maybe she got stuck doing something important, or maybe something really bad happened. Not that I hope that's the case, but –"

He raises his hand. "I don't require consolations, witch."

"I'm not consoling you." She is annoyed by the word. "I'm just suggesting that this all might be a misunderstanding."

" _What_ has been misunderstood exactly? The time and place?"

"Maybe. I mean you took forever getting us there."

"And she couldn't answer her phone?" he demands angrily.

"Bad service happens."

"Don't insult my intelligence."

"Well… you don't have a great history with communication," she mumbles, staring at the stairs on the other side of the court longingly. She wishes she had kept quiet.

"Hang on – what does _that_ mean exactly?"

She sucks in a breath. "Did you ask her if she _wanted_ to come?"

" _Wanted_ to come?" he echoes, scandalized. "It's her child!"

Bonnie clasps her fingers together. "But – did you ask her?"

The hybrid pinches the bridge of his nose. "I find your line of inquiry maddening, witch."

"It's just that you hardly ever put yourself in other people's shoes."

"And what exactly would _that_ accomplish?"

Bonnie considers her options carefully, unsure if she should follow through with her argument.

Klaus is moody enough as it is.

Oh, to _hell_ with it. What is he going to do? Shout at a pregnant woman?

"For one, you'd know Aurora wasn't comfortable with the appointment. I mean…think about it. She has to go to a clinic and stare at the proof of someone else carrying her baby. Wouldn't it depress _you_?"

She expects him to scowl and contradict her, but Klaus does not say a word. He goes strangely quiet; one would even say vacant. Her words have cast a strange net over his temper. He sets his glass down and lifts his head. Bonnie swallows. He's looking at her as if he's seeing her from a completely different angle.

"You think you know her, but you don't," he says remotely, his voice tinged with nostalgia of things past.

"I'm only trying to understand," Bonnie mutters, feeling out of place.

Klaus takes a step towards her. "It's best to stay out of it."

She should listen to him and turn away. She should leave it at that. Her father always said her mouth got her in trouble.

"You could have told me about Gloria, you know. You could have given me a say in the matter."

His eyes narrow. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't question my judgment. Gloria has been my devoted witch for centuries."

"I'm sure she's very loyal, but I wasn't told about her."

He sneers. "It is none of your business how I choose to conduct –"

"It _is_ my business," she interrupts him angrily, pointing to her stomach. "It involves me too. But you don't think about that. You don't think about other people."

Klaus clicks his jaw shut. The recriminating words stagnate between them like flotsam from a sinking ship. He doesn't bother to deny her accusation, and Bonnie can't help wishing he would.

His pride, however, is greater than any decent instinct he may possess.

She feels disappointment for the second time that day.

She doesn't want to stand here anymore, she doesn't want him to see the hurt on her face. She whirls around and makes for the stairs quickly.

Klaus trails after her, his tone slightly chastened. "Bonnie. Don't walk away from me."

She pauses on the steps with her face hidden. "Give Aurora a chance to explain. Listen to what she has to say."

She hurries away from him, not letting him speak.

.

* * *

That night, she's made privy to their argument.

It's hard not to overhear, seeing as they are shouting at the top of their lungs. She tries not to pay attention to the words – bitter imputations and reproach.

She lies in bed, lifting the ultrasound photo to the light. The small tadpole inside her is her only friend.

"Don't listen to them, little one. Mommy and Daddy love each other, but sometimes they have to fight."

Bonnie turns on her side, clutching her stomach. "That's how they work through their problems. But it's not your fault, okay? They love you very much."

She doesn't know why she's saying these corny things. Why she's indulging. She wipes a few tears from her eyelashes. God, she's getting hormonal. She'll be glad when this period is over.

* * *

In the morning, Aurora's complexion is ashen as she grabs a cup of freshly brewed coffee from the kitchen.

Bonnie wants to ask her if she's all right, but maybe that would insult her. She seems like the kind of woman who loathes pity.

Aurora forces herself to smile. "Do you think I could see the picture?"

It takes Bonnie a few moments to catch on. "Oh, of course."

She sinks her hand into the pocket of her dressing robe and pulls out the photo. Aurora doesn't ask why she's carrying it around.

She stares intently at the grainy black and white image, her red nails clutching at one corner as if she's about to tear it in half. Bonnie is afraid she might.

But at the last moment, Aurora nods placidly and hands it back to her.

"Thank you."

Bonnie can't find a proper way to continue the conversation. She wants to remove the barriers between them, to talk honestly for once about the mess they're in. She's sure that Aurora could use a shoulder to cry on.

But the vampire leaves her and Bonnie feels like a door has been closed shut.

.

* * *

The hothouse is steaming. Sunlight has poured through the glass like honey in a jar. Green vines curl like fingers around the trellis and young white blooms hang wistfully on branches, waiting to open in the heat. She sits next to the tomato batch with her legs propped against a wooden screen. She hopes Dora won't march in to scold her. The baby enjoys the cozy warmth and nothing bad could happen here.

Nothing except –

"Here you are. I've been looking everywhere," Klaus mutters, coming to a stop next to her blanketed nook.

Her first instinct is to apologize, but then she recalls that she doesn't want to be in his presence anyway. She hopes her face is fastened against sudden emotion. She's become very sensitive lately.

"Well, you've found me," Bonnie tells him evenly, pulling the blanket off her feet and preparing to rise.

"Don't get up on my account," he urges in a concerned manner, his eyes locked on her lower half.

She wants to tell him that sudden movement won't spook the baby, but she doesn't have the energy for barbed remarks and he…seems to be in a better mood.

He glances around the hothouse, as if realizing for the first time where he is. "I can't remember the last time I set foot in here."

Bonnie is nonplussed. The hothouse is only a short walk away from the veranda.

"Bad memories?" she asks without thinking.

Klaus clears his throat, brushing the matter aside. "I only wanted to give you this."

He pulls out a small card from his jacket and offers it to her. Bonnie reaches out uncertainly.

"Those are Gloria's contact details," he says, as if reciting a well-rehearsed piece. "You may get in touch with her, if you like. You …may invite her to see you. I believe she would like that."

Bonnie thumbs the card with unease. Klaus looks quite uncomfortable with this sudden overture. No doubt, he would rather not have made it. Then why has he? Is this his attempt to _apologize_? She wonders if he's ever said sorry in his life.

"I'll leave you to it, then," he mumbles stiffly, giving the plants around him another sorry look.

He's about to depart when Bonnie issues a soft hiss. She clutches the side of her stomach and closes her eyes briefly.

"What is it? _Bonnie_. Bonnie, what's wrong?"

The small pang subsides and she opens her eyes. Klaus is bent over her reclined frame and his stormy face is only a few inches away.

She startles, drawing back. She can see flecks of golden-green in his eyes. He is surveying her so intensely, she grows slightly dizzy.

"I…nothing, it was just a small spasm. Dr. Sankar said they're pretty common."

She looks down and sees that his hands are squeezing her thighs. How did she not _feel_ that?

Klaus removes himself quickly, his gait strained and clumsy for a moment. Not at all a hybrid king.

"Well, then. I'm glad."

He doesn't explain what he's glad about but simply marches out of the hothouse as if he has a pressing need for fresh air. Bonnie looks after him, mystified.

* * *

It becomes clear to her in the coming weeks that Klaus and Aurora have made up, or at least reached a resolution. They have put the doctor's appointment behind them. She'll often hear them talking civilly in the dining room and other times she'll catch Klaus placing an arm around her waist as they leave the house. They are strangely polite to each other, as if making sure not to step on a fresh wound.

Bonnie is shamefully curious how they managed to reconcile _,_ although not curious enough to go listening at their door again. She shudders when she remembers that night and the strange hunger that overcame her. She doesn't want to yearn for the touch of immortals. She hasn't really felt the touch of mortals either, not since Jeremy. She hasn't allowed herself to. She recalls one New Year's Eve, three years ago, a good-looking bartender wanted to steal a kiss from her during the countdown. She pushed him off with a little burst of magic, but then later regretted doing so. Maybe one kiss wouldn't have been so bad.

Well, no one will want to kiss her when she becomes huge and cranky. Pregnant women aren't exactly in demand.

She wants to be happy for Klaus and Aurora. It's a relief when they're not fighting. Except, she can't help but feel that there's something brewing on the horizon.

One evening, as she's coming down the stairs into the courtyard, she stumbles upon a more intimate moment.

They are both dressed for a special soiree. Klaus is wearing a perfectly tailored suit in which he looks both uncomfortable and dashing, and Aurora shines in a blue gown that dips below her shoulder line and tightens at the waist.

They are…beautiful together, almost like a couple in the stock photos they put in picture frames. You really do believe they are going to last for centuries.

Bonnie pauses on the stairs, a wistful look in her eye.

Klaus parts her hair aside and clasps a diamond necklace around Aurora's throat. His fingers linger on the back of her neck. Aurora rests her head on his shoulder and Klaus bends down, brushing his lips against her pulse. His fangs have hatched and they are skating across the soft skin like daggers. Bonnie watches, mesmerized. The stairs creak under her feet and the hybrid's eyes fly open. They land on the pregnant witch. He pauses for a moment, eyes locked with Bonnie.

His pupils dilate and he kisses Aurora's neck, retracting his fangs.

"Bonnie," Aurora mumbles, moving away from Klaus and breaking the spell. "I hope we didn't disturb you."

"Oh…no, I was just taking a bit of exercise." The truth is, she was just coming down to watch TV because the flat screens on the first floor had better coverage. She looks down at her slightly crumpled yoga pants and floppy 'Kiss The Cook' T-shirt. The baby bump sticks out like a small basketball. She suddenly feels old and weary in comparison to the 1000-year old vampires.

Klaus loosens his tie an inch. "Should you require anything…"

"I have Dora and an army of attendants at my beck and call," Bonnie waves him off. "Go, have fun."

She sounds like a middle-aged mom, seeing her kids out the door. Where did her youth go?

Aurora slips a fur wrap on her shoulders and takes Klaus' arm territorially. Bonnie tries to smile as she watches them leave.

Klaus stares at her over his shoulder as they disappear through the archway. The gates close shut with a clang. She can't decipher his look, whether it was kind or indifferent. Bonnie hopes that one day she will think back on this period and not curl inwardly with shame. She's acting like a schoolgirl. Klaus and Aurora are practically married. She needs to stifle whatever treacherous thoughts she's harboring.

* * *

He is dancing with Aurora and the chandeliers are winking at him, but he is thinking of the young girl on the stairs who probably never felt fangs on her throat. He tries to chase away the image of her vestal skin. He dips Aurora down and watches as red locks sweep the marble floor. It's the color of the blood that would spill from Bonnie's fragile arteries.

Klaus disowns the sweet liquid pooling in his mouth. He leaves Aurora to fetch himself a drink.

* * *

He wouldn't have gone into the room but he saw blue lights flickering through the white curtains and decided to inspect the source.

He finds her reclined clumsily on the sofa, hugging a pillow to her stomach. One of her legs is hitched awkwardly over the armrest while her left hand dangles on the carpeted floor. It's hard not to chuckle at the wild sight of her, and yet Klaus also feels a strange impulse to paint her. She's certainly looked better, but she's never been so _comfortable_ before _._

He has watched her sleep in the four-poster bed in her room, but there, she always appeared more vulnerable than relaxed. Now, there are no worry lines on her face, nothing to disturb her. She is at peace with the world and it makes him feel…as if something was done right.

She fell asleep in front of the TV. He clicks it shut, careful not to wake her.

He's loath to disturb her any further, but he can't possibly let her stay here until morning. It's drafty and unsafe. Far better for her to be on the second floor, in her own bed.

Klaus removes his suit jacket and casts it on a chair carelessly. He has to perform a good balancing act if he wants to lift her seamlessly. He bends down and hooks one arm under her knees. His other arm settles along the curve of her back, pulling her forward into his lap. She groans a little under her breath, stirring only enough to sink her head into his pressed shirt. His fingers come up to her face, parting her hair. She rubs her nose against his chest and mutters faintly, "smells… good". The verdict makes Klaus' breath stutter a little. It's stupid, really, to be caught off-guard by a childish remark.

Making sure she's hoisted against him, he rises slowly with her small body in his arms. He expects her to be heavier, but she does not weigh much. He wonders if she's eating enough, if Dora is fattening her up properly. He could reach out and touch her belly, but he _won't_ , because it somehow feels degrading when she's not conscious. Still, he senses his child is close and _warm_ and his skin tingles with recognition.

Bonnie settles into him, unaware of her surroundings, curling in her favored fetus position, almost like burying herself in him. Klaus feels his grip tightening on her back as he makes his way slowly out of the living room.

He doesn't notice a pair of eyes trailing after him.

Aurora watches from the balcony as her lover carries the pregnant witch to her bed.

* * *

It is morning, a few days later. He stumbles upon one his hybrids helping her up from a chair. The young man has no ill intentions, of course. He is doing exactly what's been asked of him. Bonnie experienced a dizzy spell and Theo was obliging enough to offer his arm. But he placed the other arm around her waist as he drew her up and he did not remove it until she assured him she was fine.

The action rankles somehow. He can't quite put his finger on it, but Klaus calls Theo into his study later. He compels the truth out of his eyes. Does he have a _preference_ for the witch? Theo is bleeding from one cheek and he looks as confused as a child.

"No, Sire. I am only following your instructions."

Klaus narrows his eyes. "So, you do not care for her at _all_?"

"Well…I care for her welfare, as you told me. She seems…nice."

"Nice," Klaus drawls, feeling dissatisfied with the answer, but not knowing _what_ he'd rather hear. "How quaint."

"Sire?"

"Have any of the other men…have they got too close to her?"

Theo blinks, completely mystified. "Not that I know of, but it seems unlikely."

And it's the casual way in which his hybrid says " _unlikely_ " that crumbles Klaus' suspicions. He feels so foolish, standing there, questioning his progeny as if he were a jealous –

 _Ridiculous._

He blames it on the child growing inside her. He pats Theo's wounded cheek fondly and gives him his wrist to drink and heal.

This sort of outburst is really unbecoming of him.

* * *

Dora arranged a very elegant tea service next to the Hanging Fountain. It's called that way because it has been choked with hanging brier. The water falls without sound into the foliage, and the verdure, as consequence, is a startling shade of iridescent opal.

Bonnie sits in the brocade chair, feeling like a very important guest…although she's supposed to be a kind of hostess.

Gloria takes out a small bottle of rum and pours copious amounts into her tea.

"Would you like a taste?" she invites, holding the bottle over Bonnie's cup.

"Oh, no, thank you. I shouldn't since… you know."

"My rum doesn't do the baby any harm. But bad tea might."

Bonnie doesn't want to insult her. She smiles. "Just a sip, I guess."

The two settle back into their chairs, regarding each other with interest. On Bonnie's side, it's a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Gloria is more amused than anything.

The silence stretches on, although it doesn't feel that _silent_.

Bonnie clears her throat. "How long have you worked with Klaus?"

"Straight to the point, eh? Too long, if you ask me. I need a holiday." Gloria's tone is cool and collected, like a black stone in the middle of a river. She doesn't look like she needs a holiday.

"Why don't you take one?" Bonnie asks, staring at the gleaming rings on the witch's fingers. One fire ruby attracts her attention in particular. There's something so beautiful and enticing about it, like a red mouth waiting to be kissed.

"Oh, I couldn't get rid of him in the Maldives or the Canaries," Gloria teases, swirling the ice in her glass.

"Is there force involved…? What I mean is, does he have leverage over you?"

Bonnie blushes and stumbles. She has never been great with delicate matters.

Gloria laughs a deep-throated laugh. "He _wishes_. No, sweetheart. The truth of the matter is, better the snake in your hand than the one in the grass. Klaus may be cruel and vengeful and downright _petty_ sometimes, but he's honest. That boy can't hide his emotions for shit."

The barbed words catch Bonnie by surprise. She'd never call Klaus a _boy_ , but she's glad someone can.

"Hmm, you're not great at poker either," Gloria remarks, taking a sip of her tea.

Bonnie wants to ask her. The questions – the _real_ questions – stagnate at the back of her throat like brackish water in a well. She's afraid of the answer "no".

 _Do you know my family? Did you know my grandmother? Do you know my mother?_

So much painful knowledge.

Gloria taps her hand suddenly, pulling her out of her thoughts. "How long has it been since you've had a reading?"

Bonnie blinks, as if looking through a fogged window. "What?"

She heard the question, but she has to take a moment to make sense of it. Why, she hasn't had a reading since she was –

"Thirteen," she whispers softly to herself. That's when her Grams started getting ill.

Gloria smiles a sad smile. "That's way too long, baby girl. The cards can't stay silent for that much time."

* * *

Bonnie wants to burst into tears as she watches Gloria spread the weathered deck on the checkered tablecloth. It's just stupid pregnancy hormones. Emotions running high. The gesture shouldn't be intimate.

But she hasn't had a reading in more than a decade. It chafes.

"Mm, _The Tower_ ," Gloria murmurs as she flips a card. "You best watch out, darling. Some would like to climb up and pull you down, but you must reach higher. And if it be good to fall, do it quickly and start all over."

Bonnie feels small darts behind her eyelids.

"And look at this," Gloria flips another card. " _The Empress._ Aren't we blessed with bounty."

The young witch has to excuse herself momentarily to dash to the bathroom. Pregnant women pee a lot, it's a fact. But Bonnie is going to wash her face and stifle the tears.

She doesn't get to see the third card. Gloria flips it over and smiles. _The Lovers._

* * *

When she returns, Gloria presses her ruby-red ring into her palm. "Here, for safekeeping."

"No, I can't –"

"I'm not _giving_ it to you, darling," Gloria laughs. "I'll come back for it one day. Make sure you have it."

Bonnie slips the ring over her own finger and feels a strange calm fall over her.

* * *

There's been another fight - this one more silent, but more pervasive. Her next doctor's appointment is drawing to a close and Bonnie suspects it might have added fuel to the fire.

Aurora slams doors and windows in her wake and says in a faux-cheerful manner, "I can't _breathe_ in this house. Can you?"

Bonnie notices the vampire only stares at her face now and refuses to bring her eyes lower. It stings a little. As if part of her body were a curse.

Bonnie tries to keep busy with online classes and paperback romances. She secretly hankers after Klaus' private Grimoire collection which is kept under lock and key. So far, she hasn't plucked up the courage to ask him for access. He's always in a bad mood and she doesn't want to fight him.

She spends inordinate amounts of time in the hothouse where she knows she'll be alone. Dora will come and force a banana down her throat, but other than that, no one disturbs her. She's noticed that the hybrids who usually follow her keep a larger berth now.

One wretched evening, she googles Jeremy's name. She hasn't done that since she moved into her gilded cage.

The entries have diminished throughout the years, but the commemorative website has not disappeared. The cursor hovers over the link, tempting her, torturing her.

At that moment, she hears someone's angry tread down the corridor.

"Aurora, come back here!" Klaus is roaring.

Bonnie closes the lid on her laptop and pushes it aside. The human heart is the most dangerous thing of all.

.

* * *

A few days later, she is sitting in front of the plasma TV, determined not to fall asleep again.

Klaus is out with Elijah on some governing business. Aurora has only come in to change her clothes but she was quick out the door.

Bonnie feels like she's a small cog in a faulty machinery. She scoops a dollop of ice cream from the carton and swallows it whole, letting the cold burn her throat.

"What in _God's_ name are you watching?"

Bonnie almost spits ice cream all over herself. She did not hear him come in. Klaus is leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks tired but relatively calm. The five o'clock shadow on his cheeks makes her stomach clench for obscure reasons. Klaus always shaves when Aurora is around, she's noticed.

She wipes her mouth and stares at the screen. "It's called Real Housewives of Atlanta. It passes the time."

Klaus shakes his head. "I can't believe you are exposing my unborn child to that."

Bonnie shrugs. "We watched a documentary on Etruscan culture earlier, if that helps. Although, I feel like she's getting more of an education out of this."

Klaus stops short. His eyebrows knit together. " _She_?"

Bonnie freezes with the hand on the remote. _Shit_. Did she just say she? She didn't mean to. It was a slip-up, a very stupid slip-up. Lately, she's had too much free time on her hands.

"Bonnie?" he inquires, taking a step forward. He doesn't sound mad. Merely curious.

"Um, or he," she rectifies, laughing nervously. "Could be a he too. I guess we'll find out in a week."

That's when they'll see Dr. Sankar again. She'll have to go into that examination room and lie on the table and try to contain her feelings. Only this time, the monitor will show a clearer picture. The little creature inside of her will take up more space in her head. It might even take over.

Klaus walks over to her seat on the couch. He looms over her like a benevolent, demanding specter.

"She?" he asks again.

Bonnie sighs. "I guess you caught me. I like to imagine it's a _she_ , okay? And sometimes I get this feeling…"

He sits down so quickly it makes the couch exhale.

"What _feeling_?"

He seems genuinely interested – no, _riveted_ – by what she has to say next. All his senses are focused on her. His body is leaning in, as if afraid to miss the words.

Bonnie swallows the remains of the ice cream and hopes it won't sound anticlimactic."

"I just …get a feeling it might be a she. I can't explain it. It might be magic-based, it might not. I have no way of confirming since I've never…done this before."

"That's understandable," he nods, searching her face for more, but she can't _give_ him more. She already feels depleted. Talking about _his_ child leaves her empty.

"Would you – would you like it if it was a she?" she asks instead.

Klaus wrenches his eyes from her and stares into the dying embers in the fireplace. He gets it into his head that he should rekindle it.

He gets up brusquely and grabs the poker from its fixture on the mantelpiece. With his back turned to her he says, "It doesn't matter what it is, as long as it is healthy."

Bonnie worries her lip between her teeth. It's always a dangerous dance with Klaus. One wrong word and you could fall over the precipice. But there's something so…beguiling about a cliff's sharp end. When you're standing on the edge, you are tempted to let go. Not because you want to die, but because there's something so elemental about flying backwards, about flinging yourself into the _beginning_. He is older than she'll ever be and he is so different from her. He is altogether something else. But she'd like to fly backwards for a few moments.

"You actually…want this child, don't you?"

Her words take a few moments to reach him.

Klaus barks out a cold laugh. "Good Lord, I wouldn't have gone to the trouble of confining _you_ in my home if it was all for nothing."

She shakes her head. "No, forget legacies and lineage for a moment. Forget power struggles and succession. You…just want to be a father, don't you?"

Klaus' back stiffens and the poker lands with a thud between the coals.

"I want to have an heir."

"No…you want a son or a daughter. Someone to call your own."

"Fascinating," he drawls, resting an arm against the mantelpiece, still turned away. "Those undergrad classes have really paid off."

Bonnie can hear the thorns in his voice, protecting whatever is soft underneath. She doesn't mind his insults. She leans back and stares at the TV again. A woman dressed in a leopard jumpsuit is stirring her cocktail.

"It's weird…but I think you'll actually be a good dad."

Klaus throws her a quick glance over his shoulder. He looks…completely unmoored. He holds onto the mantelpiece as it were a raft in the ocean.

" _Please_." He means it sarcastically, but there is a genuine hint of pleading in his voice.

Bonnie clasps her fingers together. "I'm serious. Maybe you won't be a _great_ dad, but definitely a decent one. Cuz you actually _want_ your kid."

The hybrid now looks at her closely, surveying her features in the same way he did after their first doctor's appointment. Seeing her from a different angle.

"That's not exactly a high bar, Bonnie. Most parents want their children."

There is an instant recoil in her face, as if she's bitten down on something bitter. She busies herself with the TV remote.

"Most parents, yes," she agrees, flipping the channels quickly. "I guess I'm relieved you're most parents."

Her brisk, casual tone does not invite further overtures. He knows about her mother, of course, as he's made it his business to know everything. But he didn't bother to get the full story. He wishes he had it now.

All he can do is return to her. He sits down on the couch, closer than before.

Bonnie raises her legs to her chest. Klaus doesn't move. They stand still together, watching the news.

A full minute passes in silence. And then, as if a trapdoor has fallen open, Klaus hunches forward and runs his hands over his face. He pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes.

He mumbles something incoherent under his breath.

"What did you say?" she asks softly.

"I said Aurora doesn't want to be a mother."

The words are smoke and glass, they cut and choke. They are see-through, but you see nothing.

Bonnie could say a lot of things. She could tell him he's wrong. She could assure him that it's only hard now that the baby's inside someone else, but once Aurora holds her child, biology will reassert itself. Maternal instincts will kick in. Everything will go back to normal.

But some things you have sit with. Some things don't go back to normal.

"I'm sorry," she says finally, because she _is_ , because her heart aches for him and for this baby.

She reaches out tentatively and places her hand over his. Klaus is limp in her hold at first, but a beat later, he clasps her fingers and squeezes back. They don't look at each other. This small tragedy will grow. Its roots will poison everything.

But right now, it's okay, it's anchored. They will figure something out.

It's weird to think that they are in this together.

When she tries to pull her hand away, he doesn't let her. He holds on tight, almost crushing her fingers under his. His breathing is uneven. She doesn't complain.

They sit like this for a small eternity, with their hearts heavy and their hands entwined.


End file.
